


The Life of Tyrant T-013.

by Vixenility



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Eventual Fluff, Gen, Humor, Platonic Romance, Slice of Life, What do you call someone who is trying to reintegrate to life as a monster?, eventual action, man i dunno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22450864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixenility/pseuds/Vixenility
Summary: A failed Tyrant T-013 (from an unidentified series) escapes the laboratory as it is about to burn to a crisp. Despite being a failure, he retains the more human qualities of who he was before transformed; he feels, understands, reads and has a more advanced inteligence than his 'brothers.' The difference is that he is not as strong, not as tall and not as monstruous.Now, he has to reintegrate life and create a new identity from scratch and re-learn the social cues, manners and ways of human life. This is his story.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	The Life of Tyrant T-013.

The faint fragrance of nature could beat any aroma it’s pit up against.

The smell of chemicals, the strange sensation of cleansiness and coldness mixed in it, was the daily breakfast for the Tyrant T-013’s soul and he knew more than anyone how annoying it could get. Against nature, that smell was putrid and agonizing. The Tyrant walked outside for the first time with documents in hand, bare for the sun to work its warming magic, hungry for discovery (and actual food) and... somehow feeling jolt of positivity all over his body.

This was a new feeling, right?

He looked down at himself, his chiseled body still holding its strange color but nothing changing. This positivity did not have bodily effects, he reckoned. He will remember this.

Bound to live forever in the laboratories and hidden underground where he could not even touch the beautiful leaves—feel the fresh fields, or even embrace the crisp air—, The tyrant had almost resigned to his life as a ‘failed experiment’ and almost did not escape when everything in the laboratory failed. When his test tube opened, he knew he shouldn’t walk out of it, he knew it could bring him trouble. To walk out of the tube meant punishment and a lot of loud noises—alarms—going off. It was numbing to the spirit and to his sensitive ears. But when the coldness of his tube started to wear off and the smell of smoke was clear, the tyrant ventured out of his peculiar home and saw the laboratory in flames. The annoying alarm sounding off and chanting something.

A protocol for incineration, which was strange. Tyrant knew that protocol meant something like... a procedure, but he also knew that incineration meant fire. Fire, which was already spreading all over the laboratory with no bodies to be found. His curiosity drove him towards the documents on the table outside of the tube room, grabbing him and giving them a read. T...Y...R...

A lot of letters together to make a word. He glanced more and more. A lot of words to make sentences, sentences that made paragraphs, it communicated a clear message.

Numbers, they meant something to the humans but he could not decipher it just yet. When something big fell beside him, staying away from the flame-covered object, he grabbed all the documents that he could and moved out.

He has no recollection of what he did precisely to get out, but he remembers the orange glow of fire all over, the smell of burnt flesh but he does not know who was burning. Now his curiosity drove him to survival, a primitive desire to explore more of this facility, maybe a way out.

He remembers he burnt himself somewhere and quickly felt himself healing, like when the doctors inflicted pain upon him and he felt relieved in a matter of seconds.

A big elevator, open and blaring against the red alarms that still assaulted his senses.

Elevator worked.

Then he saw light, beautiful light from nature, the creamy green pastures and the different shades of nature right there before him.

He looked back at the dilapidated warehouse, extensive and smelling just as bad as the rest of the laboratory. He closed the big door of it and left that part of his life behind.

Now the tyrant wandered amongst the area with paper in hand, nothing to cover his body, and his eyes analyzing the different insects and life around him. Everything... everything was alive. No machines that rattled, no beeping of any annoying alarm, no shrill sound of tubes, no ominous telescreen telling his vitals signs were not normal or that his procedure was failing.

The trees breathed along with him, the birds flew high on the sky—free like him—and the flowers bloomed like he did.

Sitting down on the ground, he felt the grass beneath him, the overgrown weeds that tickled his bare buttocks and the sole of his feet. It felt funny, like when the doctors poked needles into him for... something.

He read, not understanding some words—fuzzy meaning did not match the context—and trying to understand who he was.

Nothing.

Only talk of viruses, procedures, tests and...

He was a failed prototype?

Surely he was. He was ‘only’ 7 foot tall, still a whopping height, and with an equally impressive physique. But he was not the most powerful, his body healed slower than his ‘brothers’ and his usage was nonexistent. He was discontinued, to be left in the dust.

To be incinerated with the laboratory.

But what he did not know was that he was spared from being blown to pieces like his brothers, spared from living a mindless life as a weapon for terrorist attacks and war.

He was... spared.

He destroyed the paper in his hand, tore it into pieces and threw it up on the sky, watching it fall like white, graceful flakes of snow. He may have been a failure, but it was their loss. Not his.

Now, his real life begins.


End file.
